


Castiel Drabbles

by BrightBlueBloodRed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Castiel (Supernatural), Angelic Lore, Castiel Feels, Drabble Collection, M/M, POV Castiel, Random & Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:58:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightBlueBloodRed/pseuds/BrightBlueBloodRed
Summary: Just some thoughts and feels around Castiel and his thought processes :) enjoy!





	1. Warrior

Sometimes I think I never want to fight again. Never want to take another blow, never want to watch the light blaze from another angel’s eyes as their dying wings scorch my essence. Those stains never come clean - I am riddled with them, smoky reminders of my sins. 

But then a blade is drawn, a fist slams home, and I feel it. The purity, the clarity of intent, the knowledge that this - this is what I was made for. The fierce rush of victory, the helpless relief of defeat. I am a warrior. In the end, the only peace I know is death.


	2. Working with Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reminisces about his time with Crowley in s6.

You have no idea how easy it was to just… fall into Crowley’s arms. How much of a relief. To let him take charge, let him plan, let his ambition carry me along. To just say yes. To everything he required. He always knew what he wanted, always acted decisively and without hesitation. He gave me purpose when I was so lost. Despite everything, I am grateful for that.


	3. Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel recalls sealing his contract with Crowley.

We sealed the contract as angel and demon. The voluptuous red smoke of him wove over and through me, the colour of wine and blood and the deep throb of a double bass. He soaked into my wings, sinful tendrils of him winding between each feathery strand, until I too was red with his touch, besmirched by his essence. I scrubbed myself with grace for hours afterwards, cleansing each feather meticulously lest my brethren know what I was doing. But I kept a small part of him every time. It was my secret, the scent of whiskey and blood and hellfire, marking his touch where no one could see. He had reached deep into me; I was stained to my very core.


End file.
